


Into the West

by EarendilEldar



Series: The Undying Lands [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Absolution, Anticipation, Canonical Character Death, Catharsis, Forgiveness, Gen, Guilt, Halls of Mandos, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Poor Celebrimbor, Rebirth, Still waiting, True Love, Undying Lands, Valinor, some things Valinor can't heal, will Celebrimbor ever let go of his guilt complex???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-06 09:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18385235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarendilEldar/pseuds/EarendilEldar
Summary: After meeting a rather terrible end, Celebrimbor is brought before the Lords of the West for a judgment he has dreaded all his life.  Valinor is a place of healing and consolation, but how long will that take for an Elf like him, and can it possibly be complete while one half of his soul remains beyond the Sundering Sea?Celebrimbor's side of "The Long Home of Eldamar".





	1. Fëa

Naked, chained, and beaten, in the very smithy he’d founded, in the very land he’d ruled.  His end was upon him.  _To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well…._ Could there be any ends more evil than this?  To die at the hands of the Dark Lord himself, tortured and alone?

Alone.  Well, in a way that was a mercy.  There was no friend or ally here to witness this defeat or to fall to Sauron’s tortures beside him.  As a dozen archers drew arrows pointed at him, Celebrimbor’s thoughts turned to the only comfort he’d ever known in Middle Earth.  There above was a hole in the roof of the smithy, caused by some engine of war, and Celebrimbor’s gaze turned toward it and the darkened skies above.  With his last breath he whispered an apology, hoping only that Lord Manwë would grant his last request and carry it on the winds to his beloved.

Twelve heavy arrows pierced his body simultaneously, so that he could scarcely register the pain all at once.  Or maybe that was only because it already filled every square inch of him and there could be no room for more.  Not all of this had been enough to finally separate his fëa from his flesh, though, or for Nämo to deem him fit to gather in.  No, it had taken his broken body being skewered upon a pike for the blackness of oblivion and death to finally grant him pity.

* * *

Gradually, the black nothing began to give way to light.  It was still nothing, but light nothing was very different to dark nothing.  Or maybe that was just it… light was _something_ , whereas only darkness was nothing. 

And then there was the fact that there was actually something else there.  He just wasn’t exactly sure what it was.  A sound?  Well, no, nothing that distinct.  A noise, more like.  Yes, it was a noise… of some sort.  Wind in the leaves, perhaps?  A rushing stream?  Rain in the night?  A crackling fire?  All of these?

Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to matter as it wasn’t affecting him directly and there seemed to be no danger present.  Maybe he could just rest for a time.  That seemed best.

For some while he let his consciousness drift sleepily and felt a sense of contentment.  It was like a mild morning, still wrapped in the arms of – wait… where _was_ his beloved?  Whatever this place was, if he wasn’t with Erestor, he didn’t care to stay around!  Celebrimbor fought against the soothing of the light-nothingness, even as it lay heavy about him like a living blanket, unwilling to be thrown off.

As he focused his mind to his struggle, the noises about him became more definable.  Not noises now, but sounds, proper and clear.  And then they seemed to become even more comprehensible; not even just sounds anymore – these were now voices, speaking words.  Not words in any tongue he’d ever heard, no, but they were most clearly words.  Eventually the alien words began to take on meaning, as if they were now in a tongue he’d been born speaking. 

“Can such valor and sacrifice be invalidated, though?” said one voice, full and somewhat booming, in an oddly jovial way.

“There is also the matter of this ring to be considered…,” said another, even and regal, but rather grave.

“There was no evil in this creation, surely!” argued one, deep and hard, and more passionate than the first two.   

“Perhaps not in intention…,” said the regal one. 

“And if in outcome, can he be held at fault for that?  When it has been pronounced upon his people as fate?”  That was the passionate one again. 

“Yet, it shall lead to great suffering,” spoke a new voice, this one heavy with sadness and sympathy.

“And that was not its meaning – it was meant for safekeeping, preserving, out of great love and devotion,” said the passionate one. 

“That preserving stands contrary to the ordained order of things,” came yet another voice, and this one was oddly familiar, grave like the regal one, but more… hollow.  “The Firstborn are not meant to withstand the rending of their fëar, but because of the power of this magic, I am now unable to collect the one who bears it.” 

“And how could it be contrary to the order if it is _so_?” argued the passionate voice. 

“My brother may be correct.  Yet, that one with such grief should long endure… might it not serve a vital purpose?” posed the sorrowful voice.

“It might be noted that the ultimate reason behind this creation was a lack of trust in his entreaties,” said the regal voice musingly.

“What reason had this one to trust?” argued the passionate voice.  “Having seen all who went before him fall so far, having repudiated their ways and distanced himself from his own family… what cause had this one ever to believe that some good might last?  As, indeed, it did not.”

“I know this one is dear to you,” the regal one said, “but you might also remember who it was to put an end to that good.”

“My Lords and Ladies,” interrupted a voice, barely more than a whisper, gentle and soothing, “we are perceived….”

Just then, the light nothingness began to fade.  Features gradually became distinguishable and Celebrimbor found that he was in a hall, vast and lofty.  Before him were seven… beings – great, impossibly tall, Elf-like and yet… not.  And they were all looking at him. 

These, then, were the Lords of the West.  And they were discussing him.  _Arguing_ over him.  Valar were arguing over him….  Surely it was not possible for that to have a good outcome….

“Greetings, Telperinquar Curufinion,” intoned the regal voice.  That could only have been Lord Manwë.  Light radiated from him and seemed almost to bend and wrap about him like great wings.  It made it almost impossible to look directly at him, even though he was clearly in the most “earthly” form he could manage.

Celebrimbor, though he fell to his knees or whatever a disembodied fëa perceived as “knees”, chanced a look up and dared to speak where ordinarily he would have only bowed his head and trembled like a leaf.  “Please, great Lord of Arda, I have no connection to that name.  I beg, if nothing else, that it should not be attached to me here.  I prefer to be Celebrimbor….”  _What a thing to trifle over!_ he thought as he trailed off, feeling rather pitiful and stupid.  What difference would his name make here, being judged before the Valar?  Still, if he was to be judged, he’d rather it be for his own deeds in his own name than those of his forebears, under his father-name.

All was silent and Celebrimbor wondered if the weight of the regard of the Valar might not obliterate whatever was left of him. 

“T’is well done, my Lord Manwë,” said that passionate voice after an interminable interval. 

Celebrimbor glanced from the corner of his eye to that one and saw a Vala who looked muscular, attired in a leather apron, wrought with gleaming metal and glimmering jewels.  His own Lord Aulë spoke for him?  Celebrimbor could have wept with gratitude!

“There remains this question of the ring,” Manwë said evenly.

“I did not know of it, until the very moment it was donned, Lord Manwë,” Celebrimbor pled.  “I had no hand in its making.  I knew not that Annatar was our enemy and that he would claim control over the Rings of Power….”

“This ring of Mairon’s is not the matter at hand,” Manwë said patiently.  “It is another article, one that was of your design and making, your skill and craft.  Indeed, this ring carries a fearsome magic, one that would be far beyond the ability of any other of the Firstborn.”

“My Lord, I….”  Celebrimbor stopped, for he truly wasn’t certain of the charge against him.  It seemed that the Valar were in fact as inscrutable as he’d always been told.

“This creation,” said Aulë, approaching Celebrimbor and stooping down to speak to him, “it is more powerful than those other three rings.  Perhaps even more powerful than the one of Mairon’s own making, though I fear time will tell the measure of that,” Aulë said with a glance toward a Vala who stood in the lowest light, robed in sable and grey, looking impassive.  “This ring you have created bestows preservation upon only the one to whom it was given – not entire lands.  You see, my skillful child, the one you gave it to should have come to Mandos shortly after your coming here.  But now not even the loss of his other half shall claim him.”

For a long moment, Celebrimbor was dumbstruck.  “My Lord Aulë,” he whispered.  “You speak of Erestor…?”

“Your beloved one,” Aulë nodded, causing the beads in his braids to jingle softly.

“Do you mean that….  He cannot…?  But I never meant – I only wanted to keep him safe, from any who might wish him harm!  But then… I never meant to leave him, either….” 

Celebrimbor was growing frantic and afraid, his thoughts racing.  Did the Lords mean that the ring he’d given Erestor to symbolize their love would prevent his grief from claiming him?  Well, certainly he didn’t _want_ Erestor’s grief to kill him, but surely this wouldn’t prevent him from seeking the West forevermore, would it?  And what if Erestor simply never did sail?  He was born and lived all his life in Middle Earth, he’d never seen the West, and Erestor was not an Elf who sought out adventure and new horizons.  Lord Aulë said that Erestor should have died but now wouldn’t… they could have been reunited – if fëar interacted in Mandos and did not dwell in solitude, as mayhap they did - or at least in the days beyond when they could make their long-home together.   Did his giving that ring to Erestor now condemn his beautiful, wise counselor to some sort of unhappy half-existence for the rest of time? Did this all render him ineligible for release from the Halls of Waiting like his grandfather, as he had so long feared?  Had the Curse of the Noldor ensured that his doom was wrought by his own hand, forever denying him reunion with Erestor? 

“My Lord Manwë, please” said the saddened voice, stepping up to Celebrimbor from the other side.  “He is suffering.” 

Celebrimbor felt a comforting presence as he looked over at a beautiful female figure, a deep blue hooded mantle shrouding her.  Turning to her, Celebrimbor pleaded, “My Lady, I care not for myself.  But must my beloved endure grief unrelenting?  He’s done nothing to warrant such.  The fault is mine alone.”

“His grief is for the loss of his love,” she said sadly.  “It cannot be mitigated by any power within the Encircling Seas.  But he shall not have to bear it alone, my sad child.  And he shall not be denied entrance when his time is come.”

“But will he be….”  Celebrimbor stopped.  If he was honest, he _did_ care for himself, because if Erestor was kept from him, then he would be kept from Erestor, and so maybe neither would be granted peace. 

Finally Manwë rose and stepped forward.  “Lords and Ladies, this matter must be addressed between Lord Nämo and myself.  I must beg you leave us to speak with this child alone.”

In a blink, all those assembled, with the exception of Manwë and the Vala of somber tones vanished. 

“My child,” Manwë said, “this should not be a place of dread for you.  I see your fears, and it saddens me.  But I know that you have seen much that has given you cause to fear, even here in the West.  Firstly, I shall assure you that the doom you fear is not meant for those who never instigated war and kinslaying.  What is more, you must not think of your time dwelling in Mandos as punitive.  That is not at all the purpose.  Those who come to us by death have need of respite and healing and time for contemplation.  The re-embodient of the Firstborn alone draws a great deal of energy, physically as well as of the mind and heart.  You need to be prepared.

“The reason we have been discussing this particular ring of yours is that the one who bears it has, through your united fëar, a small connection to the ring of Mairon’s making.  I have already seen that you blame yourself for many things beyond your control.  This is why I believe you need to seek much solace and understanding in Mandos.  I do not believe there will be peace elsewhere for you while connection to the ring of Mairon remains.”  

“Then I am meant to dwell in the Halls only until that terrible Ring is no more?” Celebrimbor asked, a note of hope nearly edging into his voice, until another thought occurred to him.  “But, if my beloved should arrive here before such a time… or if that Ring be never unmade?”

Manwë and Nämo exchanged a look. 

“Your kind are bold and inquisitive by your nature,” said Nämo, “yet I have known few as bold as you.  Indeed, but one.”

Celebrimbor quickly lowered his head, knowing just what the Doomsman of the Valar meant.  “I mean no offense or irreverence, Lords.  Only… my love for him is far greater than reason.  Not for jewels or metal or lands or kingdoms would I swear oaths.  But for him… for our love… I would undertake to uproot the Pelóri if I had to.”

Again the two Valar looked at one another for some while and Celebrimbor rather got the impression they were engaged in a silent conversation. 

“It is rare that we speak of occurrences yet to be, for very often they truly are not known even to us,” Manwë said.  “But concerning Mairon’s ring, we do know that its fate shall change Arda evermore.  It will be unmade, yes.  And so, too, will your beloved one cross the seas, one day, when he is ready to heed the call.”

“Will he be all right?” Celebrimbor asked in a small voice.

Manwë sighed.  “He will endure.”

“He has no other option, because I knew not the strength of my own creation,” Celebrimbor whispered desolately.

“This, too, will have a purpose,” Manwë said. 

“Is it true what the Lady said?  He really shan’t have to endure this alone, shall he?” Celebrimbor pled.

For a third time, Manwë and Nämo regarded one another as if in conference. 

“He will have allies,” Nämo responded. 

“My child,” Manwë said kindly, “you yourself have endured more than nearly any other of your kind.  Yet all of your cares are for this one you love so.  Have you not seen how my fellow Lords and Ladies here are moved by the strength of your devotion?  Few have been the loves as profound and withstanding as this.  It would be wrong for this to be denied beyond the time ordained for its reason, this much I do know.”

Celebrimbor bowed his head low.  “Thank you, my Lord,” he murmured.

“Are you prepared, now, to follow me, child?” Nämo asked.

Celebrimbor sighed.  The Doomsman of the Valar was requesting his presence in the Halls of Mandos.  Yes, he knew he had died, and had the vague impression that his death had been… bad.  That was still somewhat difficult to comprehend.  At the moment, he had no memory of details, but he knew that it would all become clear before long.  While he contemplated things that were generally beyond the grasp of the living, no doubt.  While he dwelled in the Halls of Awaiting, pining for the day he was deemed ready to leave and be returned to his corporeal form, and – please, Lords! – his beloved, beautiful Erestor.

“Yes, my Lord, I will come, and hope there to find the peace I knew but momentarily in my first life,” Celebrimbor said.

“You will have solace and strength, valiant child,” Manwë said.  “Know that you are not thought of poorly here, Celebrimbor of the Noldor, and that your return will be looked for.  But go now and attain the peace you have earned.”

Celebrimbor saw Nämo extend an arm with an open hand.  Tentatively, he reached out and met the touch of the Vala of Death.  A shadowy fog seemed to descend and envelop them and they seemed to move as one through the lands of the West, coming at last to a glorious gate in a cave-mouth which they entered without hindrance and passed into a hall massive beyond reckoning, adorned with the most vivid and detailed tapestries.  Somewhere in here, a place was accorded for Celebrimbor, son of Curufin Fëanorion, once Lord of Eregion and intended husband of Chief Counselor Erestor.  He hoped now only to come through and still merit the love of his beautiful counselor, whenever he would arrive.


	2. Hröa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrimbor has been reborn/re-housed in his body (hröa) after being released from the Halls of Mandos. Now he just needs to figure out how to get along in Eldamar while still apart from his other half.

The concept of time is foreign to the Halls of Awaiting.  One does not find oneself wondering how one will ever pass the hours, days, years, ages.  Is, was, and will be are simultaneous.  The only thing one truly perceives is the change to oneself.  Somehow, within the land of Mandos, through the non-time one is accorded there, one encounters the serenity and freedom from fear and care to be able to reflect so deeply it does not even occur at the level of recognizable consciousness.  One finds oneself able to understand connections between occurrences that might have seemed wholly unrelated before.  One finds oneself almost disassociated from oneself, split in two and able to observe objectively. 

So when one day Celebrimbor perceived the call of Lord Nämo, he answered it without much question, traversing the underground tunnels, passed the unending tapestries of all time, to the Lord and Lady’s great hall.  The Lady Vairë sat aside at her great loom, a large basket, brimming with skeins of every shade beside her.  Nämo sat nearby, perusing his lady’s latest additions.  It had certainly been a busy spell in their realm.  After a few moments, he looked up at Celebrimbor.

“Greetings once again, my child.  How are you faring?”

“Well enough, my Lord,” Celebrimbor responded.  “I have found much more peace than I would have thought possible since my coming here.”

Namo nodded.  “Such is our aim.  I summoned you here for a purpose, though.  Tell me, child, do you feel that the equanimity you have gained here should be sufficient to sustain you were you to leave our Halls?”

Celebrimbor was quiet for a long while before regarding the Doomsman of the Valar again.  “Do you suggest that I might soon be released and restored, my Lord?”

“If you think your heart and mind ready, then, yes, I do.  Much has come to pass in recent days.  The Eastern lands are free once again of the evil of Mairon and his ring.  We believe that many happy reunions will occur at Eldamar ere long.  If you think yourself ready, I see no reason you should not go forth and begin to prepare your long-home.”

“It is the only thing my heart wants for, my Lord,” Celebrimbor murmured, now filled with a desperate hope that he might go and soon be with his Erestor once again.

Namo nodded again and beckoned to Celebrimbor.  “Come, then, and be re-housed, child.”

Celebrimbor approached the Vala and found himself growing sleepy and heavy as darkness seemed to surround him.  He knew nothing more for some while. 

* * *

The next thing Celebrimbor was aware of was light.  That was a familiar pattern and he hoped dearly that he wouldn’t find himself again in the court of Manwë being told that the judgment of Lord Nämo had been overruled and he could not be re-embodied after all.

“Coming around a bit?” someone nearby asked quietly.  It sounded like someone… normal… not with that sort of hollow sound Valaran voices took on when speaking through Elf-like forms.

Celebrimbor still wasn’t keen on opening his eyes straight away.  “Who is that?” he asked, surprised at how weak his own voice sounded.

“A very old friend, Holly King.”

Celebrimbor laboured to prise his eyes open a bit.  He could just perceive a figure sat beside him, but it was such an effort to keep his eyes open long enough to process any information. 

“Rest a while yet.  It is taxing being remade, I know.  I will stay here until you are awake.”

Celebrimbor relaxed then and stopped trying to fight the sleep that he seemed to need, eyes closing and all.  As his mind slipped gently back to the realm of Irmo, it occurred to him that he did know his guardian – that was Ereinion Gil-galad if it was anyone.

That was a comfort.  As was the realization that he could, after how long, feel a physical form about him.  A very, very sleepy form, albeit.  But he was re-housed… all could continue from there. 

Sometime later when he woke again, Celebrimbor felt much more rested, as though he’d had a sound sleep and was ready to rise and begin a new day.

Or a new life, he thought.  Pushing himself up, he started looking about.  The room was clearly of Elven design, clean and bright, warm and comforting.  He wondered where he was and thought he remembered hearing the voice of Ereinion at some point.  And if his old friend was there, so, too, maybe Erestor had come to the West.

Carefully, he rose to stand and realized he was robed in a simple but elegant garment of gold silk.  How thoughtful that seemed to him at that moment, to be comfortable to rise and have a look around as he gained a sense of place.  Everything seemed so, so very _new_ now, and he realized that it rather was.  It had been a very long time since he’d looked upon anything through eyes, after all. 

Letting himself out of the room, Celebrimbor came into a long, broad, curving gallery with a ceiling so lofty it seemed not there at all.  Opposite him, the gallery overlooked a lush, verdant garden and stream just beyond.  His memories of Formenos were very old indeed, but this was most assuredly not the northern fortress of the Noldor.  Where, though, might the Valar have seen fit to deliver him to wake remade, and in the care of his old friend who had been the High King of his people so long ago?

As if summoned by thought, around the corner came a tall Elf robed in sapphire traced with threads of gold.  There was a half-laugh and a shake of the head.  “Now, why does it surprise me little that you should wake and strike out in as much time as it took me to fetch myself a simple cup of tea?”

For a long while Celebrimbor just stared at his old friend, standing at the other end of passageway as though everything were perfectly normal.  They might have been in the midst of celebrating the spring festival at Ost-in-Edhil as soon as meeting again for the first time in who knew how many ages, somewhere in the Undying Lands.

“How are you?” Ereinion asked as he approached.  “It can be quite trying coming back.”

“Trying… aye….  Where are we?” Celebrimbor asked, clasping Erenion’s arm for emotional stability as much as physical.

“Why don’t we sit, my friend?  We will have much of which to speak.  Come, my chambers are just by here,” Ereinion said, wrapping an arm around Celebrimbor’s shoulder and guiding him back around the corner from which he had appeared.  “To answer your question, we are in Tirion.  Specifically, the House of the Lords, although that’s a rather pretentious appellation as lordship matters for very little here.”  Ereinion lead Celebrimbor into a wide, airy sitting room and settled him upon a soft chair before turning to the hearth and pouring a cup of tea.  “Here.  You will feel much revived with this.”

Celebrimbor took the cup and just looked at it for some moments.  He sipped the tea cautiously and found it strong but flavourful, not so bitter and bracing, almost floral and reminding him a bright wine and a mountain breeze.  It was a taste he now remembered from the earliest days of his youth, a rare treat hoarded jealously in the banishment of Formenos.

“So I have been granted return from death and no longer stood in the disgrace of exile,” Celebrimbor murmured. 

Ereinion smiled softly.  “And that may take you longer to come to grips with than being returned to your hröa.”

Celebrimbor looked up and there was only one thought that occurred to him.  “I have missed you greatly, and we shall have much to discuss, I know, but… has he come yet?  I think he must have not, for would he not be here?  Unless the ages apart have diminished what I thought to be more inviolable than aught else….”

Ereinion reached out for Celebrimbor’s hand.  “Not yet, I’m sorry.  Though, I expect it shan’t be very much longer now.  We hear of great change in the East, ships arriving at the quay almost daily.  I expect he will aid the conclusion of the days of the Eldar upon Middle Earth, then come to seek ease.”

“Ereinion… I know not how long I dwelt there in those caverns of the uttermost West.  I did find more peace and understanding there than I ever thought I might, yes, but till I be reunited with Erestor, I will not be whole.  I may have been absolved of the taint of my forebears, but I yet hold myself blameworthy.  I know that he has suffered unduly because of the work of my hand - though I wanted naught but to protect him from suffering, that protection has indeed caused it.  Though I know not how grievously.”  Celebrimbor looked into Ereinion’s eyes, imploring him implicitly to omit no detail of anything he’d seen or heard of Erestor.

Ereinion sighed.  “It would be a disservice not to tell you that it was rough for a while.  After your death, I was certain that Erestor’s grief would claim him.  I think it very nearly did.  Many times I all but begged him to let us ready a ship for him, but he would not.  He feared so to come here and find that… well, that you might be withheld from him evermore.”

Celebrimbor felt a familiar tightness begin to grip him, a worry that even here he might ultimately not find peace.  Despite that the Lords said Erestor would come to Eldamar, that did not mean that he would ever be able to forgive Celebrimbor for working a magic that condemned him to enduring ages with a torn fëa.

“Such had been my worst fear as well, for so long.  Now that it is no more, I fear that he will have grown bitter with me, unable to forgive what I did.”

Ereinion reached out for Celebrimbor’s hand and shook his head.  “If there is one thing you need never fear, it is any faltering of the love he bears you.  Very few have known such a love, I think.”

“I will fear it till I see it disproved, my friend.  One such as I can take nothing for granted.  How long is it since you last saw him?”

“Some while,” Ereinion admitted.  “After the war in Eregion was ended, I asked Elrond Earendilion to lead a new settlement for the refugees in the valley of Imladris.  Erestor chose to go there once he felt recovered, to aid Elrond as councillor.   They had made much progress there, by the time the next war was upon us.  I did not see the outcome of that one with my own eyes, but heard that the tide was turned by a prince of Men who took Sauron’s ring from him on the battlefield.”

Celebrimbor suddenly looked stricken.  “He was not in this battle, tell me!  He is not a warrior, and never should have -”

“No, no he was not there.  He remained in Imladris as seneschal.  He would have become Lord had anything happened to Elrond.”

Celebrimbor sighed in relief, but then stopped and looked back at Ereinion.  “You say Sauron’s ruling ring was taken?  But when was this?  For it was told to me that the ring was only recently destroyed.”

“It has been centuries, it seems,” Ereinion said.  “We here, too, have heard of that ring’s unmaking and I wondered that it could have been so long – the ring was taken in the same battle which claimed my life, but it was not destroyed then.  I know not why, I have only heard from those who arrived here after my re-awakening that the ring was kept by the prince until his death when it was lost.  Many thought it likely lost evermore.”

Celebrimbor shook his head.  “Not such a ring as he would have devised.  It would have heeded his call, and he would have drawn power from it and from any foolish enough to try to use it.”

Again, Ereinion reached out to his old friend.  “If it has been destroyed, the threat is no more.  And you have been returned to us, Celebrimbor, absolved of any fault you might have borne before.  You must look now to your new life.  Think now on establishing your long-home here; prepare a place for when your beloved arrives.  Do you think you should wish to live here in the city?  Or perhaps outside?”

Celebrimbor sighed.  It was plain that Ereinion wanted to divert him from such gloomy conversation.  “Even here, even re-housed, I shall not be truly happy till I hold him again.  I shall endeavor, though, to be less miserable, I assure you.  What you say is wise; I must begin making a home for us here.  Perhaps if I build a fine enough house, he will forget any bitterness he has endured because of me.  A great library for him to fill.  And a hot-spring pool, as we had in the bath house at Ost-in-Edhil – I never shall forget how he loved to take his ease there at day’s end….  And a forge, naturally.  Mithril is not had here, is it?”

Ereinion smiled and laughed softly, for it was good to hear Celebrimbor speaking more as he had at the founding of Eregion.  “I do not believe it is, no.  I’m sure you may find a suitable substitute, though.  And it is known that Lord Aulë himself has greatly awaited your return from the realm of Nämo.”

“Lord Aulë?  _My_ return?  For what purpose?” Celebrimbor asked, almost to himself.

“Smithwork?  Jewelcraft?” Ereinion shrugged.  “Your reputation is well-known, my friend.  But more, I think that Lord Aulë appreciated that you always did regard his own children as nothing less than your equals.” 

Celebrimbor shook his head in wonder.  “Perhaps I should seek his audience?”

Ereinion nodded.  “You might.  But come and take a meal with me first?  We still have much to talk of, and you are still recovering.”

“Aye.  All in time.  What became of the three rings?” Celebrimbor asked curiously.

“I thought it best, after the war, that they be kept separate.  That way, even if one was taken, the other two might provide our people some protection.  At least enough to escape, if needed.  I sent Nenya to Lady Galadriel and asked Círdan to keep Narya.  I myself held Vilya for a time, but thought it might do more good in Imladris with Elrond.”

Celebrimbor nodded thoughtfully and murmured, “A wise decision.” 

Ereinion looked at Celebrimbor and could tell he was still thinking of Erestor.  Likely the only thing that would distract him for any length of time would involve a hammer and anvil.  “He loves you, Celebrimbor.  That shall no sooner cease than Varda’s stars drop out of the skies.”

“It’s the only thing that matters to me, Ereinion….”

“I know, my friend.  Come, let us eat and drink and talk of this long-home you will be preparing.  Mayhap we shall meet some who are more lately come from Imladris and can give you more current word of your beloved one.  There was a smith from Eregion who came not so long ago… Govannen, I believe.  He spent many years in Imladris.  He will have known Erestor, certainly.  Oh, and of course you must meet Lady Celebrian, Elrond’s wife, she will have known Erestor quite well.”

“Thank you,” Celebrimbor said seriously.  “For everything.  I should be so lost here without a friend.”

“You are lost no more,” Ereinion said with a smile as he clasped Celebrimbor’s shoulder.  “We shall see all things set right ‘ere long.”

Celebrimbor resolved to spend his days in hopeful preparation for the day Erestor returned to him.  Only then would his fëa truly be re-housed and made whole again.

 


End file.
